


Hourglass

by tristesses



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Breathplay, Corsetry, Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's laced tight and looking good. Tonight, they're going out on the town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hourglass

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 6/11/2010 for the Kink Bingo prompt "breathplay".

Christine checks and double-checks the construction of the corset before she even puts it on Nyota, running her hands along the stiff boning, making sure there's at least a foot of slack available in the laces. There's really nothing that could go wrong, not with twenty-third century materials, but in her research she came across horror stories of women dying from splintered whalebone piercing their sides, and of organ displacement caused by tightlacing - stories which are almost certainly falsehoods, written by people of later generations in an attempt to make corset-wearers seem barbarous and strange - and Christine, besides just being slightly paranoid, is trained to search out the worst-case scenario and prepare for it. It's part of her job. And anyway, doesn't the saying go "better safe than sorry"?

"You can stop worrying," Nyota says, a faint tone of amusement in her voice. Christine blinks, and realizes she's standing there with her fists on her hips, frowning at the loose-laced corset wrapped around Nyota's torso. "I'm fairly certain that we'd have found any problems in the construction by now."

"I know, but give a girl license to be irrational, will you?" Christine says teasingly, shaking her head - her worries are silly, and she's probably more concerned with what Nyota thinks about this than about the corset itself. Ridiculous, that; Nyota was plainly intrigued when Christine brought up the idea, and she's definitely outspoken enough to let Christine know if any of their games are unwanted.

"You're the last person I'd call irrational," Nyota says, the last couple of syllables coming out in a breathy huff as Christine sets herself to the task of lacing Nyota into the corset. There's something delicious in taking the sinuous lengths of Sethien linen between her fingers and pulling tight, looking at the red-and-white patterns the laces make wrapped around her fingers, and feeling the way Nyota straightens her spine in reaction to the first yank, her already-excellent posture becoming military in precision.

"Hands on your hips," Christine says, and Nyota obeys. It thrusts her chest out a bit, which is just what Christine wants. "I'd think Spock would probably be the most rational one on the ship. I'm damn practical, but I'm only human."

"Spock," Nyota says, her breathing light and shallow, "is just as irrational as the best of us. Only his Vulcan pride prevents him from admitting it." Christine smiles, tries to fit her finger under the lower laces, and can't do it; pleased, she takes the pull loops and ties them in a flat knot at the small of Nyota's back, the better to be inconspicuous under the clothes. Nyota steps forward when she's done, and goes through a small series of movements, bending and twisting to the best of her ability.

"No pinching," she announces after a moment, and turns to face Christine. "You're staring."

Yes, she is, and it's because Nyota's so beautiful, long-legged and sleek, her body straight and lithe held tight in its corset, her dark hair in a strict bun coiled at the nape of her neck, her dark eyes warm and observant.

"You look so good," she says finally, and turns to fetch Nyota's uniform for her; it's too hard to put on alone, when she's wrapped tight in the corset. She helps Nyota maneuver into it, and is rewarded by Nyota stealing a quick kiss after her shirt's been pulled on.

"Just my boots, and then we can go," Nyota says, and sits down on the bed to wriggle her feet into them. "Got your credits?"

"Of course," Christine says, patting her pocket, and opens the door. Nyota gives her a small smile and brushes past her, back ramrod straight, her paces a bit slower than usual; she doesn't want to overexert herself, with her breathing restrained like this. Oh, but Christine wants to hear her panting when she does.

But now it's time to meet up with friends at a bar on Starbase 56; the rest can wait until later.

 ****

. . .

Nyota takes a sip of the Andorian Sunset Kirk's ordered for her, letting the neon liquid wet her mouth but barely swallowing. It's not that the corset prevents her from doing so, but that she's not too thirsty; the purpose of the drink is more the straw, something to wrap her lips around, something to bring Christine's eyes to her mouth, to her pouted lips, so when Nyota looks at her from under lowered lashes with just the quirk of a smile, flirtatious, Christine goes a little pink and exhales. She doesn't look away, and her eyes are so intent, positively fixated, even a little possessive, the way Nyota likes her to look. Nyota tilts her head back, baring the slender column of her throat, and looks at the clear-paneled ceiling, at the billions of stars speckling space. The restrictions on her breathing make her chest heave, making her small breasts that much more noticeable. She raises her hand to her throat like an old-time damsel, brushing painted nails across the soft skin of her clavicle, provoking the slightest shiver, and that, too, is visibly enhanced by the stiffness of her posture and the immovable corset. Casting her eyes to the side, she sees that Christine is transfixed by her little games, blatantly staring; Nyota is hit with a sudden warm flush, a prickling of her skin, and tries to take a deep breath. She doesn't succeed, but she needs that tension release, otherwise she's going to take Christine and fling her into a back room and have her wicked way with her here in public, and Nyota doesn't do public; at least, not like that.  
This is the first time they've taken any of their games outside the bedroom - although now that she's picturing herself and Christine groping in a dark corner (maybe Christine would kiss her until she feels like she's going to faint, and strip off Nyota's top so she can get to the corset - maybe Christine would pull on those strings until Nyota gasps and clutches at her arms, maybe Christine would take her by the throat and press her against a wall and use her other hand to work Nyota's wet cunt while she bit and kissed along Nyota's jaw, hidden by shadow - oh, Nyota likes the thought of that), Nyota's pretty sure she can't wait much longer.

"Chris," she says, leaning forward a bit, her back absolutely rigid, and she's surprised by how breathy her voice is; maybe she's a little more into this than she thought. "Feel like heading back?"

"Yes, I think that's a good idea," Christine says instantly, rising and gathering her things. Kirk snickers, as does Gaila, and McCoy rolls his eyes and bids them both goodbye, in the sort of voice that drips disdain all over Kirk and Gaila's innuendo-filled antics. Uhura smiles at him pleasantly and says, "Goodbye, doctor," before Christine takes her by the wrist and practically drags her out of the restaurant.

"Eager, are we?" Nyota asks, amused, and Christine shoots her a look so full of heat it makes Nyota flush; Christine's fairly calm by nature, but when she gets like _this_ \- oh, it's delicious, the sort of expression that makes Nyota's blood hot in her veins.

"You were quite the little flirt in there, weren't you?" Christine asks, voice pitched low so the transporter tech can't hear; Nyota's a little short of breath, having nearly jogged to the pad. She looks at Christine, just barely shorter than her, and purposefully sways her body a little closer - if she's going to act the seductress, she's going to do it damn well - and opens her mouth to speak. Then those familiar shimmering lights coalesce, and the peculiar buzzing sensation of transportation takes hold -

\- and then they're on the _Enterprise_ , alone, so Nyota's free to purr, "Anything for you, Christine," and lean in for a kiss. Christine grips her waist like she's drowning, and rubs the pads of her fingers over the boning of the corset.

"I don't know why you're acting like this, but I like it," Christine says finally, pulling away, and Nyota smiles. Maybe later she'll explain to Christine her reasons, the way this over-the-top roleplay of a vidscreen vixen entrances her so (not that she can completely explain it herself, except by contrast: Lieutenant Uhura is logical, thoughtful, a good girlfriend but not prone to whimsy, whereas Nyota in the corset is someone different; Nyota in the corset can _indulge_ ) - but that's for later. Now they walk as quickly as they can to Christine's quarters; Nyota's breath is hard, fast, and shallow. The corset almost hurts, but it's a good pain, the best kind.

"Here," Christine says, and she halts suddenly; they'd almost overshot her door, in their hurry, and as she quickly types in her command codes, and speaks her name in firm tones for the voice recognition program, Nyota realizes she's trembling a little. Tonight, she thinks, is the night; she's ready to be stripped bare, all her artifice and her control taken away and broken. She so rarely reaches this point in relationships; it's so hard for her to let go of it all, but with Christine - well, the corset is the catalyst. Who else would she trust to do this, to be the one to whom she gives control over something as basic as breathing?

Nyota thinks, _I may be in love with her_ , and stands paralyzed.

"Coming in?" Christine asks, and pulls her inside without waiting for a response. "This top is going to come off," she adds, practical as ever, and helps Nyota strip it off.

"Nice," she says in appreciation, and runs her hands down Nyota's corseted sides, cupping her breasts and squeezing, rubbing her thumbs lightly and almost absentmindedly over her nipples. "The skirt, too?"

"Definitely," Nyota gasps, and manages to wriggle out of it without really bending over, quite a feat. When she turns around, Christine's taken off her clothes, too; they're tossed in the corner, but that's not really concerning Nyota now, even if she's normally anal retentive about tidiness. Christine, nude, stands just like Christine clothed, same confidence, same stance; people are supposed to look vulnerable when naked - Nyota definitely feels that way - but Christine looks _strong_. Nyota licks her lips, and glances toward the bed.

"Good idea," says Christine, and goes to sit on the edge of the mattress, legs splayed. Nyota kneels - presses Christine's knees further apart - kisses the tender skin on her inner thigh - she loves this smell, wet and raunchy and uniquely Christine, loves the taste of Christine on her tongue and the little pleased noises Christine makes -

"Wait," Christine groans, and Nyota raises her head. "Here, let me - " and she reaches down to the laces of Nyota's corset; it's an awkward position at first, but when she's undone the knot and wrapped a length of linen around her hands, she can lean back a little, and then it pulls, tightening just a little around Nyota's torso. Nyota breathes in sharply, an instinctive response; it's shallow and quick.

"Is this okay?" asks Christine, and when Nyota looks up her eyes seem huge and luminous, maybe even a little uncertain. She's been nervous about this from the beginning, Nyota knows, but there's no reason for that. Nyota - even though she didn't think she would, at first - Nyota wants this.

"I'll tap your leg three times if I need you to loosen up. Twice, then once again when I want you to stop and leave it there," she says, and demonstrates on Christine's shinbone; Christine nods, says, "All right," and Nyota ducks her head again, presses her nose into Christine's soft curls.

She laves Christine's labia, long strokes with the flat of her tongue, opening her up - Christine jerks the laces hard, and Nyota's breath constricts - pursing her lips, she kisses a pattern along Christine's slit, follows it by little flicking licks down to Christine's entrance, and licks into her as deep as she can get - the laces tighten, more slowly this time, and it's going to be too much so Nyota taps twice then once on Christine's foot, and Christine lets go of the laces (right where it's perfect, Nyota can only breathe just enough, _just_ enough) and buries her hands in Nyota's hair. She's panting and moaning, and saying things like "Love the way you look right now" and "Harder, Nyota, 'til you can't _breathe_ " and pressing her face in until Christine's fluids are smeared across Nyota's chin and cheeks - Nyota moans throatily, stealing the rest of her breath, and sucks on Christine's clit, hard, until Christine's legs clamp shut around her head, and she shakes, face in a silent rictus of pleasure.

When Christine releases her, Nyota falls back on her elbows, and gasps.

"Turn over," Christine says, and Nyota makes a little noise in the back of her throat. She can't decide if she's ready to tap out their code yet, then Christine adds, "I'll unlace you, if you want me to."

"Yes," she whispers, decision made with no tapping required, and obeys. Christine's fingers are sure, and she makes quick work of the lacings, and soon the corset falls open; Nyota takes in huge gulps of air as Christine massages the indentations the boning left on her skin, waiting.

"Ready?" she asks, after a few minutes, and Nyota says, again, "Yes," and then, "Be rough with me."

A slap on her ass is her answer, and Christine hauls her hips up so she's splayed awkwardly on the floor, knees up but the rest of her flat, and Christine is merciless, and thrusts three fingers inside Nyota and _fucks_ her, until Nyota is crying out and clawing at the ground, and it is rough and unceasing and when it's over, when Nyota's come so hard Christine jokes her fingers are broken, they stumble into the sonic shower. Nyota feels raw and taken apart in the best of ways.

They clean each other off, soft, sweet, with Christine dropping a kiss on Nyota's forehead before they climb into bed, Nyota feeling more tender towards her than she has toward anyone, and like that Nyota decides: tomorrow she will tell Christine she loves her; a decision made in the space of a breath.


End file.
